A Collection of Dragons: C.M.'s Collections, #3

By C.M. Simpson

Dragons. Every dragon piece I've written to date, is in this collection—and some can only be found in this collection. Whether they're burning towns or bringing down starships, offering shelter or indulging in politics of the state, there's a dragon present. Sometimes it's in the background and sometimes it's right up front where dragons belong, but it's there. If you love dragons as much as I do, then this collection is written with you in mind.

 

NOTE: In addition to the exclusive pieces some of the pieces in this collection appear in 365 Days of Poetry, 365 Days of Flash Fiction, 366 Days of Poetry, or 366 Days of Flash Fiction, some saw publication in the now out-of-print An Anthology of Dragons, and some of the short stories originally saw publication as stand-alone pieces which have now been retired.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.M. Simpson
• Release date: Jun 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393047995

C.M. Simpson

I spent the first twenty years of my life living in different parts of Queensland and the Northern Territory. My father was a teacher who liked to travel, so he took teaching appointments in all kinds of places. I don’t think I stayed in one place for more than four years at a stretch. I wrote stories for most of that time, drawing on the different landscapes we encountered and giving a hyper-active imagination somewhere to run. Seeing so many different places gave me a lot of food for thought as I stepped into the world of adulthood and took my first full-time job, and I never stopped writing and exploring the worlds in my head. So far, I have written four collections of short stories and poetry, and a number of novels, with many more to come. I hope you have enjoyed this part of my journey.

Book preview

A Collection of Dragons

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C.M.’s Collections #3

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C.M. Simpson

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1st Edition

Copyright © June 23, 2021, C.M. Simpson

Cover Design © September 9, 2020, Jake at JCaleb Design

All rights reserved.

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Dragons. Every dragon piece I’ve written to date, is in this collection—and some can only be found in this collection. Whether they’re burning towns or bringing down starships, offering shelter or indulging in politics of the state, there’s a dragon present. Sometimes it’s in the background and sometimes it’s right up front where dragons belong, but it’s there. If you love dragons as much as I do, then this collection is written with you in mind.

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NOTE: In addition to the exclusive pieces some of the pieces in this collection appear in 365 Days of Poetry, 365 Days of Flash Fiction, 366 Days of Poetry, or 366 Days of Flash Fiction, some saw publication in the now out-of-print An Anthology of Dragons, and some of the short stories originally saw publication as stand-alone pieces which have now been retired.

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License Notes

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase a copy for your own use. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

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For all those who believed in me enough, that eventually I had to believe in myself.

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Thank you.

Table of Contents

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Dragon Coast

Dragon Mirth

Dragon Mirth and Tree Death

Everything has its Price

The Duel

Dueling with the Dragon

Where be Dragon

The Dragon in My Shadow

A Partnership

A Dragons Baggins Pastiche

Gulvane and the Dragon

Dragon Bait

Dragon Sounds

In the Dragon’s Shadow

Stiletto’s Luck

Storm Dragons

A Dragon in the Last Day’s Light

No Secret Safe

Vale for the Kessek’s Beast

A Dragon’s Demise

Gifted

The Death of Tarkine’s Wrath

Waiting for Tarkine’s Revenge

An Invitation to Fly

The Dragon and the Sky Trolls

Wizard, Knight and Dragon

I Live as a Dragon

The Dragons and the Dinosaurs

Bellberries and Chime Beetles

Samphire and the Dragon’s Pact

One Natural Span or Another

The Dragon’s Revenge

Survivors Resettled

The Fall of the Serpent Belestar

Lillie and the Colonists

Promises to Keep

Let Sleeping Dragons Lie

Dragon-Lair Raiders

Salt Spray and Sanctuary

Dragon-Bound Secret

Dragons from the Story Leapt

The Dragon Lands

Spring-Time Dragon

Draconic Desires

Dragon Hunters

Childhood Dragon

Dragon’s Breath

Koschade’s Treaty Stands

Partners to the End

The Redemption of Dragons

In Search of Dragons

Dragon Dreaming

Korran Flies

Dragons (I)

Complications in the Autumn Harvest

Every Cloud

Ode to Battle Lost

Chelovan

Dinosaurs and Dragons

Chelovan’s Risk

Have all the Dragons Gone and Died?

Cloud Dragons

Weed Dragons of the Medilo

Demon’s Bane

Long-Lived, the Dragon Lies

Pixies in the Machine

Dragon is Another Word

Dragon Barter

Wizard’s Prey

Dragon’s Capture

Dragon Trap

Vengeance Comes Flying In

The Worth of Dragons

The Battle of Thyrus Hill

Dragon Furled

Inquest into the Death of a Sorceress

A Day in the Star Marines

Double Dragon

The Dragon Flies

Waiting for Judgement

Retirement

Dragon Tears

Flight into the Dawn

The Dragon’s River

Dragon Rescue

A Prayer for Dragons

The Veterinary Shore

The Seeking Dragons

The Dragon-Storm

Hunted

A Hazard of the Job

The Dragon Queen’s Emissary

The Rise of Dragons

Draconic Emergence and Education

Spider-Born Apprenticeship

A History of the Heart

Draconic Attack Run

If the Dragon Calls

Battling Dragons

Allies in the Deep Night

Rocky’s Adventures

Seppelitus

Count Down to Salvation

Words in Passing

Serpents and Shuttles

Dragon Child

In Search of Dragons

The Dragons’ Rule of Law

The Seeker from Hivrala

Dragon Dawn

Draconic Recruitment

Dragonships Ahoy

An Awkward Visitor

The Rescue of the Dragon Heir

The Medilo Most Unkind

More Precious than Faberge

New Companions

The Dragon

Mack and the Dragon

Luck Among Servants

Interview with a Dragon

Jantani and the Swirl

Cymri

Jelisair and the Deep

Protector’s Rest

Retrieval 49

Markers

The Politics of Dragons

Post-Script of Dragons

Author’s Notes

Other Work by C.M. Simpson

About C.M. Simpson

Dragon Coast

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This story first appeared in the 1994 Weerama Writing Competition, and then in An Anthology of Dragons, which was removed from publication in 2020.

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Critics described ‘Dragon Coast’ as a vibrant, young company whose flamboyant style in garment design had already won the minds of the rich and famous. Jessica saw the description and dismissed it with a snort.

Dragon Coast had at least won those minds for now, she’d thought. And if it hadn’t won their minds, someone was paying them an awful lot of money to wear the label on their bodies. Today, with bleak sunshine streaming through the kitchen window, Jessica ate her toast and read the newspaper classifieds, viewing the company with a lot less cynicism.

‘Dragon Coast’ is expanding, the advertisement read. We are seeking employees at all levels of production and managerial assistance. Positions include assembly-line workers, overseers, security guards, delivery drivers, department secretaries and managerial secretary. Interested candidates should apply to...

Jessica let her eyes scan the rest of the ad. It was the best opportunity this newssheet had offered for a long time. She let her gaze wander over the page again. No restrictions on how many times you could apply, either.

She smiled.

Well then, she thought, I might as well start at the top and work my way down.

She knew the top was a long shot. There would be others with more experience to offer, more time in executive positions, more qualifications, but she’d done well in similar positions before, even if she’d only been ‘the temp’.

Jessica glanced down at her resume. It seemed pitifully thin in her hand, thin and worn. How many interviews had it seen? Somehow the meager history it held just didn’t seem adequate.

With one more glance at it, she picked up her bag, straightened her cravat—one of Dragon Coast’s latest designs—and walked toward the door.

The streeter was on her steps again. She nimbly dodged the evil-smelling stream of tobacco juice he spat at her and hurried to the bus stop. The streeter wiped his lips and watched her go.

He’d try again when she came back, he decided, and hunched lower in his rags to avoid the cold bite of wind that teased its way down his collar.

The building that housed Dragon Coast was as flamboyant as its owners, Jessica decided as she passed it in the bus. It stood out against the more subdued colors of the other companies, the Dragon Coast logo proudly displayed down its side. She rang the bell, requesting the next stop, and the bus pulled over a block later.

Jessica had plenty of time to study the building as she approached. It was sitting on the border of the industrial and corporate zones of the city. She hadn’t had to pay as much for this zone entry pass as she would have had to pay for a pass into the corporate zone proper. If she could land a job here, she wouldn’t have to pay for a pass at all.

The reception was crowded when she entered. The receptionist eyed her curiously as she approached his desk.

What position? he asked.

Managerial secretary, Jessica replied.

The receptionist’s eyebrows arched. One moment, please.

Jessica tried not to fidget as the man picked up a phone. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, so she contented herself with watching him through the glass.

Résumé, he demanded, hand out.

Jessica passed it to him. His eyebrows arched again at its lack of thickness but he made no comment, just half-turned so his back was to her, and discussed its contents with the telephone. Jessica could feel the line of applicants growing impatient behind her.

Just one question, miss.

The receptionist had turned to her again and was holding his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone.

Yes?

Where do you think the name for the company came from?

Jessica opened her mouth, then closed it again. He’d probably heard all he wanted to hear about creatures of myth and legend and catchy, fantastical images. But what else? Her mind raced.

Miss?

The receptionist was waiting. Jessica licked her lips.

Here goes nothing, she thought.

Judging from its foreign design ideas and native flamboyancy, she began.

The receptionist frowned.

Jessica stumbled on. I’d say the name refers to the company founder’s home country.

Without saying a word to her, the receptionist spun away. This time, Jessica could hear every word as he repeated her answer to the waiting receiver. There was a momentary silence as he listened to whatever opinion they had on her reply and tried not to be nervous, when the receptionist turned back to her; he was almost smiling.

You may go up now, he told her. The last lift on the left.

Jessica followed his pointing finger. She turned to thank him, but he merely handed back her résumé and, smile disappearing, turned to the next applicant.

What position?

The lift took her to another reception area. Jessica was surprised to note that no one sat behind the counter here, then realized this was the position she was applying to fill. One of the doors at the end of the room opened as she left the lift.

May I help you? The female voice held an unusual timbre and Jessica turned to face it. The woman attached to the voice was as unusual as the voice itself.

Copper hair with varying tones of red was loosely held back by a Dragon Coast headband. Green eyes with floating depths of blue assessed her from a copper-tanned face. Jessica struggled to find her own voice.

I’m... she cleared her throat and tried again. I’m here to apply for the managerial secretary’s position.

This time it came out okay, but the words seemed to hang, loud with awkwardness, in the air between them. Two doors, one on either side of the one the woman had come through, opened. The men that stepped through were as striking as the woman.

Honey-gold hair streaked with darker layers of yellow over an ivory skin vied with hair too silvered to crown the head of one so young. And so pale! Stunned, Jessica looked from one to the other, only remembering to close her mouth when she saw the woman stifle a smile.

Jared, our receptionist, seems to think your qualifications are adequate, the copper-haired woman said, "so there is only one more thing I...we really need to ask."

Jessica was aware of another door opening, behind her. She resisted the desire to turn and look. Instead, she concentrated on the woman before her.

We are not your usual kind of business owner. As the woman continued to speak, Jessica found focusing on her easier than she’d imagined.

The woman was changing. Her skin was becoming shinier and flaky, as scales began to appear. Her face grew into a lizard’s face, only more, elegant, imposing. Her body shimmered, the clothes disappearing, absorbed, gone.

Jessica stared at the creature before her.

Um, you’re a...a...

"Dragon. Yes, that’s exactly what we are," agreed a voice from behind her.

This time Jessica did turn around. Another of the creatures stood, no, crouched, behind her. This one was all the colors of the rainbow.

Greens shimmered against purples, split by red and gold lightning, and swirled by blue. Violet eyes laughed at her as she searched for something to say.

I...uh...I thought you’d be bigger.

This time there was no mistaking the grin on the dragon’s face.

Don’t be silly, it told her. We’d have been hunted to extinction long ago if we reached the proportions of fairy tales. Not to mention,—she, Jessica was sure it was a she, continued—died of starvation.

This last comment brought a laugh from the silver-haired man. When Jessica turned to face him, he stopped smiling and raised a querying eyebrow, exchanging glances with the man across from him.

So, do you mind?

The question caught Jessica unawares. Mind what?

Working for dragons. The man’s reply was matter-of-fact.

Jessica looked slowly from one to the other, pivoting slowly to take in the two female dragons in the room. So what if her bosses were a little bit unusual? They could be worse, have other vices like...

She hastily blocked that memory.

Working for dragons, she thought, would be infinitely better than working for a creep like that again!

When she answered, her voice left no doubt as to how she felt.

No, she said, I don’t mind at all.

Dragon’s Mirth

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From December, 1995, this piece first appeared in 366 Days of Poetry.

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Dragon’s mirth

burns new grown trees,

scorches rock,

rocks the seas.

Laughter rolls like thunder,

through the mountain passes,

fades through the rolling hills,

and ripples far-off grasses.

Dragon Mirth and Tree Death

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From December, 1995, this response to Dragon’s Mirth, first appeared in 366 Days of Poetry.

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Feel the lick of flame

across the tree-bark skin.

Feel the hope of new life die,

our children scorched again.

Destruction out of laughter.

Death borne out of mirth.

We drop new seeds

amongst the ashes,

that, from our death,

we might to life give birth.

Everything has its Price

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From 1996, this piece was originally published as a stand-alone, and first appeared in An Anthology of Dragons, which was removed from publication in 2020.

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And what would you offer for a place by our fire? the merchant-guildsman demanded.

I let my eyes travel doubtfully over his portly, dust-covered frame, and ignored the knight who’d ridden up behind me.

A tale, I replied.

The knight snorted and rode past to make his camp not far from the caravan’s. I caught the gleam of interest that sprang into the guildsman’s eye before he could hide it.

A tale, he repeated, eyeing me with the same doubt I had shown of him.

A murmur rose from the men behind him. It seemed the journey had been dull enough to warrant a tale. The guildsman sighed, as though pressured beyond fairness by his crew.

Very well, he grumbled. A tale it is.

I wedged myself between two burly teamsters and, ignoring their frowns, began my story.

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Few about this fire would recall a blind bard, even if they’d had the fortune, once, of meeting her. Few would credit it indeed.

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A low murmur of disbelief greeted this. I moved to quell it, knowing that the murmurs would stop soon enough.

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"No one knows how she avoided the perils of the road but avoid them she did, until the night she chose to follow some traders beyond the Dragon’s Peak Range.

"The route they took was new then, but is well known now. The traders followed Dragon’s Way through Drudonelle’s Forest and almost reached its edge before disaster struck.

"They were attacked by bandits, so outnumbered that the bard fled by scrambling, first, beneath a wagon, and then into the undergrowth. The scent and sound of the creatures attacking the caravan fouled her nostrils and curdled her blood. Whatever these bandits were, they were not human and some, perhaps, were not even alive.

"The bard cleared the ambushed caravan and moved swiftly and quietly away, using the trees and the rising slope to guide her. The road followed the bottom of the valley. She thought to find it again by following the slope down in the morning.

"Gradually, the sound of battle and an unholy feasting grew faint behind her, but the tree trunks drew further and further apart. Horrified by the sounds following the battle, the bard kept moving. Up and away, reach and find the next trunk and stumble to its side, reach for the next one, until there came a time when she reached out but could find no more.

The caravan lay far behind her, and only silence greeted her when she stopped to listen for sounds of pursuit. The air on her skin foretold the onset of dusk and warned of a cold night to come. If she’d wandered onto the open mountainside above the forest, she’d need shelter, and swiftly. Too terrified to return to the trees, the bard hurried up the slope. Perhaps there would be a cave, or a stand of thick brush."

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And perhaps there’d be a bear, muttered one of the men in the audience.

Or a mountain lion, quipped another.

I ignored them and pressed on.

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"Loose scree rattled under the bard’s feet and she spent more time on her knees than she did upright. The slope grew steeper still, but she kept moving up, carefully testing each step before she took it. She almost cried with relief when her hands touched upright stone.

"A cliff. Shelter could not be far away...or so she thought.

"The bard quickly realized that the sun’s warmth had left her back, and a chill night breeze had taken its place. All she sought was a cleft or a crevice, some hidden nook away from the night and its creatures.

"In the morning, the bard thought, she could follow the slope back down and find the road. By the morning, she hoped, the bandits would be gone. These thoughts comforted her as she searched.

"The stone proved to be a cliff, the top of which was higher than she could reach. The wall had bushes clustered about its feet, but none thick or tall enough to protect her for the night. The bard fought her way through them, struggling to keep her hand on the cliff’s rough face.

"As she pushed her way through the bushes, she tripped over a rocky ledge, and her ankle twisted under her as her feet found a hollow in the rock. Flailing for a handhold on the rocky wall, she lost her footing and fell, bumping her head on the curving entrance of a cave.

"The bard snatched at the arch of stone, trying to regain her balance, but it curved out of reach and she lost her balance, rolling into the cavern’s maw.

"She swore at rock and stone and shrub, then picked herself up and began feeling for the wall. You can imagine how the creature within slowly opened one baleful eye as it heard her approach.

"Supper had wandered into its lair, and it need only wait for the hapless creature to reach it, so wait it did, suppressing the wind blast of its breath, holding itself as still as the rock that enclosed its body.

"The bard heard nothing but silence. Silence, that is, until she had moved a dozen paces further into what she planned to be her shelter and security for the night. At that point the creature grew impatient, or perhaps worried that its supper might sense the danger it was in and flee. Whatever its reason, it moved and the bard heard it stir. Ahead of her, something scraped against the stone and that scraping reached her ears.

"She stopped to listen and felt the presence of something large and powerful. Now she realized that her haven was already a home, that some great creature chose to rest here. Some great creature that she, with her unsubtle entrance, had woken.

"The bard listened, her heart’s thunder almost deafening, as she heard the creature stir again. More scraping. Bone, or was it stone, against stone and then she felt it.

"It was like a wave flowing across a sandy shore, a thunder cloud covering the sun, this sense of something vastly powerful and malevolently inclined emanating down the tunnel. It washed over her, and through, so strong that she stood, rooted to the spot.

Blind bards don’t run, she told herself, then realized that she couldn’t run anyway. Fear held her in its iron grip.

"The great beast, the presence she felt, stepped closer. More scraping. Bone on stone, the bard decided and imagined great claws poised to rend her, shredding her to ribbons. She wanted to run, to flee full tilt down the treacherous hillside, but the fear held her.

"She heard the creature’s chuckling hiss, felt the foul kiss of its breath upon her cheek and knew that, even if her feet would shift, she wouldn’t be able to escape. The fear broke, shattered by resignation to her fate.

"The bard heard the creature draw breath to speak, felt the crawling finger of warning along her unseeing spine as something large thudded onto the mountain outside. Now fear drove her feet and she scrambled into the cavern behind her. She instantly forgot about being blind and dove sideways.

"The bard’s hands hit the cavern floor, and she tucked herself into a roll that crashed her into a rock. She prayed it wasn’t part of the cave’s wall and began to claw her way around its curving side.

"It was either a large boulder or an outcrop of stone, the bard didn’t care which but pulled herself around it and wedged herself into the crevice she found at its back. Voices spoke, thundering in a tongue she couldn’t understand.

"It was a language of ancient times, of ages past the years of man, a language spawned in an era of violence and magic when the world was still finding its footing, and power ran amok. It was a language of terror and pain, brutal and full of savagery.

"What was said, she couldn’t tell, but red heat gouted past her shelter, and a challenger’s roar filled the cavern. A bellow of pain and outrage answered it. Pain, outrage, and a stream of saliva that stank of acid.

"The bard shrank behind the protection of her rock, covering her head with her hands and flinching as she heard acid drip and sizzle against her shelter. Then the great creatures clashed together and began their battle in earnest.

"Spells! The waspish snap and crackle of magic jangled above her. She sought the depths of the crevice of rock and wall, and crushed herself into the smallest space she could find. There came the scrape of claws and clash of jaws, the hiss of scales on rock. Her haven shook, and she tried to burrow deeper.

"Something braced against the outcrop that was her sole defense. Talons, curved and cruel, wedged tight as a big body leaned and lashed out again. Sharp-edged, they flexed, slicing across the bard’s arm and chest. Her haven began to crumble, as though made of clay instead of solid granite.

"She felt heat from more flame, then the acrid smell of burning flesh mingled with the bitter-sweet scent of another acidic outpour. More acridity filled the air as something else burned, this time without heat.

"Roars. Shrieks. Ancient curses screamed in the cruel tongue of those that battled. The mountain shook as they lurched past her, moving out of the cavern and beyond, onto the mountainside.

"The bard willed herself to be like the rock she leaned against, petrified, lest one of the mighty beings survive and return to find her, lest the mountain fell about her to seal and entomb her in the rock forever. Another fear, more relevant, rose as she noticed a more immediate danger.

"Warmth and wetness flowed from where the talon had rested. Dampness that crept and seeped beneath the leather of her tunic, through the cloth of her shirt and onto her folded knees.

"She guessed it to be blood, though her wounds were too deep for her to feel any pain. The battle raged too close and she dared not move to inspect them. As her life’s blood seeped from her side to pool at her feet, a feeling of unreality enclosed her, a strange sensation of floating, which continued even when the battle-noise faded and stopped.

"The victor roared its proclamation of victory, the vanquished’s death cry fading beneath its jubilant bellow. Then the victory cry changed abruptly to rage, followed by an eerie shriek of death.

"Silence. Silence reigned, and the bard had peace at last. She had the silence in which she had once crafted her songs, the silence...and the unwanted seeping, the creeping warmth that was her own.

"There were unheard voices then, unseen lanterns, and the vibrations of unfelt hoofbeats rattling on the scree. The bard had no expectation of waking as she began to slide, without protest, toward the final sleep that must enclose us all.

The dragon hunters found her when they sought the dragon’s treasure, guided by the slowly spreading pool of blood.

"They say it took a high priest three, long days and four, interminable nights to wake her. His prayers kept her alive as they took her to Novarin’s Keep where, exhausted, he retired and let an underling take his place.

"Sweet herbs and the sweeter smell of incense greeted the bard on waking. Warm air, carrying their scents moved, wafting past her as someone greeted her groaning.

"No acridity here. No roars, no bellows, no language of an ancient time, disturbed her, and she missed the protective comfort of rock surrounding her. The bard tried to speak, to extend a greeting in reply and ask where she was, but felt the cool fingers against her dry lips.

Soothing words just beyond her hearing led her into a rest far different to the one she’d found before. There were four more days to her next waking, and the priests kept close vigil throughout.

"The covers moved as the bard shuffled to sit upright in a bed she couldn’t remember. The smell of incense lingered and the herbs were fresh, though no caring presence greeted her.

"She could feel the air moving as if through a window, and slid her legs from beneath the sheets until her bare feet met the soft warmth of a woolen rug. Shakily, the bard stood and, feet feeling the way before her, followed the air flow until she reached the window.

"Light whispers came from the cloth draping her shoulders and the feel of a gown about her gave her small comfort. Someone had replaced her clothes. Her questing hand found the ledge and she stopped as the sun’s warmth touched her face.

"There was the smallest change in the draught that flowed around her and